


i hope i make your skin crawl, i hope i make you grind your teeth

by aryasbitch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya is basically Clove, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Bisexual Arya Stark, Bisexual Daenerys Targaryen, Careers (Hunger Games), F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hunger Games, Pansexual Tyene Sand, aka ma girl dany, arya loves one (1) girl, basically me indulging in arya being ruthless and cunning, career girls, you ever kiss when you're covered in blood after just killing someone? bc arya and dany sure have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryasbitch/pseuds/aryasbitch
Summary: Where Daenerys is fire, Arya is ice.Her dress is the color of winter, pale blue with white diamonds trailing down the fabric. They look delicate and pretty, but they’re as sharp as one of Arya’s knives when Ned leans in too close and traces the path of them on her hip. He hisses and sucks a bloody finger into his mouth, and Arya turns forward with a sharp grin.In front of her, she can see Daenerys smirking.or; Arya enters the game and refuses to be seen as anything but deadly
Relationships: Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark & Rickon Stark, Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Shireen Baratheon & Arya Stark, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark (mentioned) - Relationship, Tyene Sand & Arya Stark, Tyene Sand/Arya Stark (brief), Tyene Sand/Arya Stark/Daenerys Targaryen (brief), Tyene Sand/Daenerys Targaryen (brief)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	i hope i make your skin crawl, i hope i make you grind your teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and as the world comes to an end i'll be here to hold your hand.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185000) by [chemicalpixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalpixie/pseuds/chemicalpixie). 



> arya in this fic is basically clove from hunger games. no i do not take criticism  
> title is from pinterest  
> i own nothing but the plot

Arya hates the reaping, _hates_ standing and listening as the name of someone she knows is called so they can be shipped off to the games. Most come back as victors, but some don’t. She hates that every time she stands in the crowd beside her sister, all she can think of is Robb’s name being called, Rickon’s name being announced. 

The entirety of her district had thought both would come out alive as victors. Robb had been sixteen but had the title of Young Wolf on his shoulders and District Two had thought him to be a victor up until halfway through his game when he had started to put down his weapons in favor of growing closer to Talisa, the girl from District Seven. 

Neither came out and instead, Myranda Royce won.

Rickon had been young, only thirteen, but wild and a Stark nonetheless. He made it two days before an arrow was shot through his neck by Oberyn Martell.

Robb had volunteered five years ago, Rickon had been chosen last year.

No one had volunteered for Rickon, maybe because they wanted to give the Starks a chance to prove themselves. Generations of Starks had won the games. Arya’s grandfather Rickon, her father, her cousin Jon. 

But recently Starks had been dying in the games. Lyanna, her aunt, had died at sixteen. So had Robb, and then Rickon fell at only thirteen.

Arya refuses to let any other Stark die in the games.

When Sansa’s name is called, Arya does not falter as she volunteers. 

Sansa, her beautiful, perfect sister, who has never once picked up a weapon or attempted to train for the games. Sansa, who looks at Arya with red-rimmed eyes and nods down at her, because Arya knows her sister has all the faith in the world in her.

Edric Dayne volunteers in place of Ned Umber, a boy of only twelve. He flashes her a grin as they shake hands, teeth pearly white and smooth. She sneers at him and digs her nails into his skin, relishing in the small hiss he lets out. 

Her goodbyes with her family are short but she allows herself to indulge in this final act of comfort from them. Sansa hugs her so tightly Arya thinks she might have a broken rib and her mother wets her shoulder with tears. 

Arya promises to make it out alive, no matter what, and doesn’t look back as she is ushered away from them.

-

The train ride to the Capitol is tense and full of mindless chatter. Ned spends every free moment attempting to converse with her as she stares out the window and pretends he doesn’t exist. 

Their mentor, Sandor Clegane, grunts at them as he chews and rolls his eyes whenever Ned looks at him. Arya finds she quite likes him.

“You need to get people to like you, you need sponsors to stay alive. Shouldn’t be hard for you, twat.” Ned opens his mouth, probably to defend himself against Clegane’s nickname, but the Hound only turns to Arya and grunts, “It’ll be harder for you, but maybe you can wave a blade around and get people to fear you instead, small as you are.”

Arya smiles at him and bares her teeth, thinking of Nymeria, the stray wolf that had followed her home. Sandor raises a brow and turns back to his plate.

“Why can’t I use a blade to make people afraid?” Ned sounds absolutely offended, but Arya has seen him attempting to train back home. His movements are slow and messy when there’s a blade in his hand, and his arrows meet the ground more than the target.

“Wouldn’t you rather gain the Capitol’s favor? You’re so very charming.” Arya’s words are coated in venom. Ned has the forefront to jerk back, scooting his chair farther from her, and Clegane huffs a laugh.

Ned waves to the Capitol crowds outside of the windows, grin in place. They cheer back at him, and Arya looks at each of them in the eye. She doesn’t wave to any other than a small boy with curly black hair, one who looks like Jon.

They’ve shipped her off to the games to die. Why should she share with them any hospitality?

-

The Capitol is all cold tiles and false smiles as they dress her for the opening ceremony. Syrio Forel, Arya’s stylist, smiles at her with a knowing look until she gives him a smile in return. 

She and Ned are dressed in silver as they ride the chariot, and Ned waves to the crowds alongside her. She doesn’t look at them, instead staring forward, her gaze locked on the chariot in front of her where a boy with black curls and a girl with long silver hair are dressed in red. 

After, she and Ned meet the District One tributes, the boy named Ramsey Bolton and the girl Daenerys Targaryen. Ramsey’s grin is feral and reminds her of a hunting hound, but she ignores him in favor of Daenerys. 

Her smile is no less harsh then Ramsey’s but reminds Arya of a fox, one who knows she has her prey cornered and is waiting for the right moment to strike. Her eyes are soft and she curls her hand around Arya’s hip as Ned and Ramsey talk. Arya presses herself to Daenerys’ side and the two smile as they lock eyes, grey to purple.

-

In the training area, she sits with Daenerys and Ramsey, Ned attempting to converse with them and receiving no words in return. Tyene Sand, the volunteer from District Four, joins them after wielding two daggers against her district companion.

Arya sits with her back pressed to Daenerys’ front, her fingers toying with silver strands that have fallen over Daenerys’ shoulder. In return, Dany slips her arms around Arya’s front, hands resting just below the swell of her breasts as the group observes other tributes training. 

Ramsey snickers at the sight of a young girl attempting to shoot a bow, missing the target, and instead sinks the arrow into the wall. Arya turns her head to glare at him, chest tight, because this girl is only fourteen and looks as young as Rickon was. 

Arya is sixteen, only two years older than the girl she thinks is named Shireen, but Ramsey is eighteen and finds immense joy in tormenting any tribute under fifteen. Ramsey holds his hand up in mock surrender at her look, and she stands from Daenerys’ embrace to approach the girl.

Daenerys follows and watches silently as Arya helps the girls steady her hands and aim so that she hits the target. Arya wields her own bow to demonstrate, hitting the bullseye each time she shoots as Shireen watches with wide eyes beside Daenerys. 

Daenerys uses a heavy sword against Ned and presses him to the ground within minutes as Arya shoots dagger after dagger into targets, each one landing where she wants it too.

After, Daenerys pulls her into a dark corner and presses her to the wall as she leans in to kiss her, fingers trailing up to curve around Arya’s breast. Arya wraps one leg around the blonde’s waist and brings her fingers to her silver hair, tugging on the strands until Daenerys moans.

They return to sitting with Tyene minutes later, and she gives them a sly look at their bruised lips. Ramsey continues to laugh at younger tributes, and Shireen sinks an arrow into the blue of the target. 

From behind the glass, the game maker, Petry Baelish, looks down on them and frowns.

Arya only smirks up at him and presses closer to Daenerys.

-

Baelish sits behind the glass and watches as Arya uses the weapons presented to her for the private session. She shoots arrows, she throws knives, she twirls a rapier and beheads mannequins with precision. She does not falter or fumble.

Baelish sneers at her throughout, but Arya receives a score of ten along with Daenerys.

-

Ramsey is the first to sit with Tyrion Lannister, the host, for the interviews in front of the Capitol audience. In front of Arya, waiting in line, Daenerys is dressed in white and red. The fabric flows down to the floor and shifts from white to red near her waist, so the silk and lace at the bottom ripples to look like flames. The top of her blonde hair is elaboratly braided back, a metal three-headed dragon resting between the strands at the back of her head. 

Where Daenerys is fire, however, Arya is ice.

Her dress is the color of winter, pale blue with white diamonds trailing down the fabric. They look delicate and pretty, but they’re as sharp as one of Arya’s knives when Ned leans in too close and traces the path of them on her hip. He hisses and sucks a bloody finger into his mouth, and Arya turns forward with a sharp grin. 

In front of her, she can see Daenerys smirking.

-

Daenerys charms Tyrion Lannister, telling him she’s the _blood of the dragon_ , the girl made of flames who cannot be burnt.

Her smile is razor-sharp when she looks into the camera with a raised brow and she states she’ll burn down the arena if need be, and the look on her face dares the audience to counter her words. It makes Arya want to press her to the wall and kiss her.

Tyrion has her twirl onstage, and her dress erupts into flames, starting at the bottom. They trail up until her dress has burned away to one of crimson lace and rubies as sharp as the diamonds on Arya’s own dress.

The crowd stands and cheers so loud Arya can feel a headache growing.

Ned is next and charms the crowd with his wide smile and perfect hair. The Capitol coos for him, laughing and clapping along to his words. Arya wonders if they’ll adore him when she carves open his chest.

“From District Two, the girl who volunteered in place of her sister! Arya Stark!”

The audience clap and cheer, a few murmuring praises at her looks or distaste at her last name, the memory of two dead brothers still painted in their thoughts. Arya walks across the stage with a grin that resembles a wolf, teeth that shine red with blood when she tilts a certain way. No one in the audience is eager to be hunted, and the voices die down.

“I’ve heard you’re quite skilled with a weapon in your hand. Is there any truth to that?” Tyrion’s voice is loud and cheerful.

“Yes.” A few whistle at her answer, at the lack of modesty. In another life, maybe she would have let herself be seen as small, harmless. To surprise them all in the arena when she cuts open other children without hesitation. 

Here, now, she doesn’t care much, because Arya is nothing if not ruthless. She’d rather go into the arena with bets already placed on her, with tributes already afraid to go up against her.

Tyrion only laughs. 

“I remember your brothers.” Arya’s eyes harden. “The Young Wolf and the Wild Wolf.” 

Tyrion tilts his head at her and the crowd murmurs at the mention of her brothers. They had loved Robb, adored Rickon, up until both had been murdered rather than won. Arya has a knife up each sleeve, and she has to resist the urge to stand and sink it into Tyrion’s skin.

“What type of wolf are you, Miss Stark?” Tyrion’s mouth is smiling, and he looks cheerful, ever the lively host, but Arya looks closer and sees how sad his eyes are. He had lost both his niece and nephew to the games. 

Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon had been selected for the games last year when they were fifteen, despite living in the Capitol and Tywin Lannister being the President. 

Perhaps he worried people were growing tired of the games. Maybe he meant to put in Joffrey’s name, and Tommen and Myrcella being selected had been an accident. Either way, the two had been chosen. Cersei Lannister had raged and Robert Baratheon had been too drunk to care, and Tywin did not budge. 

Neither of the twins lived, and Oberyn won the game that year.

Tyrion lost both of them, and now all he has left is his cunt of a nephew Joffrey, a sister that hates him, and a father that hates him even more. 

So Arya keeps her spine straight and chin raised, and her fingers refrain from grasping one of her knives. Instead, she smiles with teeth, and thinks of Nymeria.

“The Lone Wolf.”

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. 

That’s what her father used to tell her, until the words sunk into her skin. But there is no pack around, no other Starks to survive with her. 

But maybe she can add to her pack. Anyone can learn to snarl, to howl, to hunt. A dragon is as good as anyone.

-

10\. 9. 8. 7. 6.

The timer counts down, and Arya uses what little time she has to look around. She meets Daenerys’ gaze, sharing a nod before she continues to survey the tributes. The entirety of the tributes are terrified of the Careers, and she knows they don’t want to face her or Daenerys or Tyene, nevermind Ramsey, who jeers and spits on the littlest of them and threatened to skin a twelve-year-old the moment they stepped foot in the arena back when they were on the plane getting their trackers.

As much as Arya hates him, as much as she wants to tear him apart, she’d rather wait to do that until the other tributes are dead.

5\. 4. 

The arena is set in the woods, which means Arya already has an advantage. She’s hunted in the woods back in Two, can track and make her way through them without being seen or heard. The problem is more in what Baelish decides to throw their way halfway through the game.

3\. 2. 1. 

The timer ends.

Arya runs, because she and the Careers had agreed on heading to the Cornucopia first. She makes it there the same time as a boy from Ten, and doesn’t think before grabbing a nearby dagger to fling at him. It sinks into his neck, and she turns to grab another to throw at a girl running towards her.

It lands in her shoulder as the girl ducks, and she pulls it out to fling back in Arya’s direction. Arya throws herself to the ground, grasping the bow a foot away and an arrow from its quiver. She aims and shoots in time for it to land in the girl's chest, and as the body falls to the ground beside her, Arya notices that the girl has red hair.

Red the same color as Sansa’s, now smeared with blood.

Arya swallows and stands, refusing to spare the unknown girl another look.

Daenerys is on the ground with a dark-haired boy over her, and Arya shoots him too. His blood splatters over Dany’s face and hair, the blonde now flecked with red. She wants to pull her up, to make sure she’s alright, but no one is ever really alright in the games.

She sees the grateful look Daenerys sends her way before Arya turns to assess her surroundings.

Ramsey is wildly bringing his knife down on a boy of maybe twelve or thirteen, and Tyene bares her teeth as she attacks a girl with hair the color of corn. Most of the other tributes have fled to the surrounding woods, but a young boy is limping away, nearing the tree line on what must be a broken ankle.

He has curly hair, and he looks a bit like Bran from behind, if Bran could still walk rather than having been strapped to a wheelchair since he was ten. Arya raises her bow and shoots, and the arrow disappears into his chest.

Arya can hear the boy’s wet yelp from a dozen feet away as he collapses to the ground.

Daenerys comes up behind her, laying a hand on Arya’s arm. Arya brings up her other hand and laces their bloody fingers together as they leave the Cornucopia. There are bodies strewn about in the clearing, a few facing up and others flat on their fronts.

Most have blood puddled beneath them, no doubt thanks to Ramsey.

He comes up behind them then, smirking at the damage even as Arya sneers. Blood soaks his front. Ned, standing a few feet away and looking entirely shaken, is clean of it. Arya doesn’t know if he has killed anyone. 

Arya doesn’t blame him. She wishes this wasn’t such a kill or be killed scenario, but it is. Best to be the one surviving.

Tyene has red smeared down her face and chest, grinning to display red speckled on her teeth. Dany and Arya are similarly covered, fingers and fronts splattered with the blood of dead children. It makes Arya want to gag, really, but she won’t ever let the Capitol see that.

She swallows rising bile and squares her soldiers. The Capitol has taken everything from her; her family, her innocence. They won’t take her pride. They won’t see her weak.

She lets the blood linger on her skin the rest of the day, so the citizens of the Capitol see it whenever they pan the camera on her. 

Arya hopes it makes them flinch.

-

The dead are displayed that night so the surviving tributes can see who has lived and who has fallen. 

Arya counts eleven dead.

-

The Careers split the next day to look for surviving tributes. Ramsey takes Daenerys and tells Tyene to keep watch at the Cornucopia, despite Arya wanting to protest at the prospect of being alone with Ned. Ned smiles down at her as they walk, and she clenches her fists to avoid hitting him. Or worse, killing him on only the second day.

They meet again at the Cornucopia hours later, with one more body dead from Arya’s hand. Ned had cowered behind a tree as she threw her knife at the tribute and the blood spurted across the ground.

Arya had wiped her dagger clean on her sleeve as the cannon boomed above, and Ned’s hands had shaken as the blood collected on her jacket.

“Two dead from me, one from Daenerys.” Ramsey is grinning ear to ear as he retells his kills, and Daenerys rolls her eyes and moves farther away from him to sit beside Arya. Tyene is draped over Arya already, her arm around her waist and head pressed to her shoulder.

Arya shifts to allow Daenerys to press herself to her side, smiling down at her. Tyene cackles at Ramsey’s story, jostling Arya. Ned’s hands continue to shake.

“One for me,” Arya compiles but does not elaborate.

“And Ned?” Tyene’s question makes Ramsey’s eyes slide over to the blonde boy, who averts his eyes. Ramsey movies closer, sitting beside him and tilting his head.

Arya doesn’t move, only answers, “None.”

Ramsey pouts, making Ned scoot further away.

“I’m disappointed, truly. Not surprised, but still. I was hoping you’d have at least one by now.” His voice reminds Arya of a snake, one laced with venom right before it strikes to kill.

Ned murmurs an apology, and Ramsey laughs as he shifts away. Tyene snickers and curls her fingers around Arya’s leg, dragging her hand up until her fingers rest mid-thigh. Arya raises a brow down at her but says nothing, only turns to press her head to Dany’s.

Ramsey looks delighted when he notices how the three are pressed together, his eyes trained on Tyene’s hand on Arya’s thigh. She scowls up at him and lazily throws a knife his way, and Daenerys giggles as he skirts away so it lands in the dirt behind where he just stood.

When he turns away, muttering angrily, Arya presses a searing kiss to Dany’s lips, Tyene’s cheek pressed firmly to her shoulder. Tyene leans her head forward and grins at the action as they part, moving her hand down to cup Arya’s knee. 

She leans up and sinks her teeth to Arya’s shoulder playfully when neither of the girls react other than to kiss once more. Arya huffs at the bite and Daenerys laughs, making Ramsey turn their way again.

The three remain pressed together, but separate enough that he won’t comment or step closer. Ned frowns over at them but remains silent.

-

Four more have passed when their faces are displayed that night. Nine left to go.

-

The next week is slow. The Careers don’t find any more survivors, and no one else is killed. Arya only focuses on surviving with what little peace she has been given, even if Ramsey spends most of his time talking about wanting to flay whoever is left.

The days are boring, but the nights are as peaceful as possible in the arena. Arya will curl around Daenerys, their bodies pressed close to preserve heat. They’ll press their lips together when they know everyone else is asleep, but go no further.

There are still cameras watching, after all.

Some nights Tyene will wrap around them as well, and once joins in kissing. She is rougher than Arya, nipping at their lips and biting their skin, and faster than Daenerys, because she seems to be uncaring when it comes to patience.

That’s alright with Arya. 

Arya bites back harder, sinks her teeth into Tyene’s neck, and listens to the hiss the girl lets out. She does the same to Daenerys when the blonde shifts close enough, and the three don’t mention it the next day as the sun rises.

Arya and Daenerys came together first, and the two were first to press each other to walls and to press their lips to each other in the weeks before even entering the arena. But having Tyene join is no problem for either of them.

There is no jealousy between the two when Tyene presses her hips to Arya’s or curls her fists around Daenerys' shirts. There is only heat and affection.

There isn’t love yet between Daenerys and Arya either, but it’s growing. It’s begun to bloom in Arya’s chest.

-

Two more days have passed, and one more has died. Arya supposes everyone else is waiting it out. Ramsey has grown tired of it, loudly complaining that there is no one around for him to skin or stab.

He side-eyes Ned, and Arya laughs at the speed in which Ned moves away from Ramsey.

The next day, Arya takes Ned to the woods to look for food. They had plenty in the Cornucopia, but some had been stolen while Ned had been on watch. If Arya had to guess, she’d suspect the thief to be Shireen.

She’s the smartest out of the surviving tributes.

Deep in the woods, Arya is silent on her feet, but Ned steps on twigs and leaves without care. Arya rolls his eyes as he attempts to get her to speak with him.

“So, Daenerys?” Arya whirls around to face him, shoving her dagger at him until its tip is pressed to his stomach. His eyes widen and his hands raise, but Arya does not remove her knife.

“What about Daenerys?” She snarls up at him, neck craned back so she can look him in the eyes. Ned stammers out an excuse and backs away. Arya lets him, but doesn’t sheath her blade, her fingers tightly wrapped around its hilt even as she brings her arm down to her side.

Arya gives him one last look before turning back forwards, heading further into the forest. Arya hears a twig snap from up above, but says nothing. Ned doesn’t seem to have heard it, too busy staring down at the dirt.

From behind a tree, Arya sees a flash of dark hair. Arya continues moving forward so as not to alert Ned of the girl's presence. The brunette ducks behind another tree, but pokes out her head. Arya looks at Shireen, sees the terror on her face and her shaking hands, and jerks her head to the side.

Ned doesn't see that either, and Shireen’s expression melts to one of utmost relief and moves further away, quietly disappearing behind the trees until she is gone from Arya’s view completely. If Arya doesn't win this, if Daenerys doesn't, she wants Shireen too.

At the very least, Arya doesn't want to be the one to kill her.

“Arya, wait.” Arya pauses, and for a second fear flashes through her that Ned has spotted Shireen, but the young girl has already disappeared. Arya turns as he places a hand on her arm, brow raised in confusion. His mouth opens, as if he wants to say something, but closes again as no sound comes out.

“Yes, Ned?” Arya is tired of this, really. First, she’s stuck with Ned in the woods, and now he’s acting like an idiot. She freezes as he places a hand on her jaw, the other still along the curve of her elbow.

There is nothing that could have prepared Arya for Ned leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, trying to draw her stiff body closer to his.

Her brain catches up to her soon enough, and Arya brings up a knee to his crotch, pushing him away the second she hears him cry out. She brings her hand up and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve as he kneels over, hands between his legs.

“What the fuck was that for?” Ned is silent as he gapes at her, as if he actually is surprised she didn't want to kiss him back. “You knew about Daenerys and you still tried to kiss me?”

“I-” Arya doesn't let him finish. She doesn't want to hear whatever excuse he’s come up with, or worse, some sort of declaration of feelings for her.

Instead, she stalks forward, until she is right in front of him. Even on his knees, Ned is near her height. Arya’s lips curve to a snarl and she brings up her blade, and she sees fear and regret flash in his eyes in the split second before the blade has sunk into his neck.

She pulls it out roughly, uncaring as blood spurts along her face. She cleans the blade along his shoulder as he whimpers and cries out, before he falls forward to the ground. The cannon sounds through the air.

When she returns to the Cornucopia, the other three are seated around it. Ramsey spots her first, eyes widening as he takes in the blood on her cheeks and the obvious disappearance of Ned.

“Where’s Ned? Don’t tell me it was his cannon that went off.” Tyene and Daenerys turn at his words, and Dany’s eyes widen as they take her in. She looks concerned, but unbothered at the implication that Arya has killed her District partner.

“He kissed me, so I killed him.” Tyene cackles and Ramsey looks delighted. Daenerys only wipes the blood from her face and presses a kiss to her mouth.

-

Two more cannons go off within the next few days. Possibly starvation, or an accident. Either way, only five are left, and four of them are Arya, Daenerys, Tyene, and Ramsey.

Arya watches as they begin to side-eye each other. Ramsey has no issues with killing all of them and crowning himself the victor. Tyene would probably kill them as well if it came down to her, Arya, and Daenerys, but doesn’t want to if she doesn’t have to.

Daenerys and Arya don’t really care much about anyone but each other. They both know one or both of them will die in the end, but for now, the immediate issue is Ramsey, who looks a moment away from slitting all three of the girls' throats.

That night, when Ramsey has fallen asleep, Dany and Arya run. Tyene refuses to go with them, and so they have to leave her behind. The next night, they stumble across her body in the woods, her throat cut to the bone from ear to ear. 

Three are left, and Ramsey is surely hunting them all down.

They find Shireen next, her lips stained blue from nightlock. Arya knows that the girl must have known what they were, knew they were poisoned. Arya supposes she didn’t want to be the final one up against Ramsey.

The next day marks the seventeenth day in the arena. Three tributes remain, and Arya thinks the Capitol has grown tired of them skirting around each other. Their boredom must be why they make the announcement.

“Attention, tributes.” Baelish’s voice is full of mirth, “There has been a change in the rules. As of now, two tributes are allowed to become victors. Good luck, tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Arya stares at Daenerys, who stares back.

“Two victors.” Dany is quiet in volume, but not in words. “We can both live.”

A grin splits her face and Arya can’t help but match it, the two falling into each other’s arms. They can both survive. Arya pulls back first, her fingers coming up to sneak through Dany’s blonde tresses.

“We have to kill Ramsey. Together.” Daenerys nods, and the two sit and begin to plan.

-

As it usually does in the games, everything goes to shit. Arya and Daenerys split up to find clean water, and by the time Arya returns to their campsite Dany is still gone. She waits one hour, then two, and still the other girl does not appear.

By the time night falls, Arya knows she cannot search without drawing too much noise and attention to herself. The next day, Arya searches for Dany again, fearing the worst and expecting a numerous amount of reasons for Dany’s sudden disappearance.

Arya listens as a pair of quiet footsteps approach from behind. She identifies the steps easily, far too heavy to be Daenerys’, and ducks behind a tree quietly.

When she peeks behind it to look, her heart stops.

Ramsey holds Daenerys to his chest, a knife tucked beneath her chin and pressed to her throat. The only solace Arya can find is that Daenerys looks downright furious, rather than in pain. 

“Arya! Come out and play, darling.” Ramsey brings a hand up to curl around a lock of Daenerys’ hair, and Arya has to resist the urge to fling her dagger at him. One wrong move could mean hurting Dany, even with as good as aim as Arya has.

Arya presses her head back against the tree, breathing heavily and curling her nails into her palm until blood is drawn. She steps out from behind the tree and faces Ramsey, knife gripped between her fingers.

Ramsey lights up at her appearance, and Daenerys’ eyes soften before widening as if remembering their circumstances. The blade shifts closer to Dany’s neck, and she pushes back into Ramsey to keep herself away from its edge.

“Two of us can go home, Arya. Daenerys is from my district, sure, but one of you has to die. And you get to decide which.” Arya glowers at him, wetting her lips to speak. Daenerys looks as if she knows what Arya will say, shaking her head as much as possible in Ramsey’s grip.

Arya swallows and looks back to Ramsey.

“The clock is ticking, love. You have ten seconds before I grow bored and cut her throat.”

“Like you did Tyene?” Arya meets Daenerys’ eyes, looking down at Ramsey’s hand wrapped around the blade. Ramsey is scowling at her when Arya looks back at him.

“She was in the way. I do admit though, I was more offended that the two of you decided to sneak away.” Daenerys begins to move one hand up to the blade, “Awfully inconsiderate of you.”

Daenerys sneaks her fingers behind the edge of the blade until her fingers are between it and her skin. She looks at Arya, who nods, and they both move.

Daenerys pushes the blade away, hissing as the blade meets the skin of her fingers and digs in. Arya shoots forward until she is in front of them, and Ramsey is too dumbfounded to react before Dany has moved away from him and Arya is in front of him.

He gapes at Arya and she brings up her blade, sinking it into his neck. He coughs, blood spurting from the wound as his hand comes up to the cup hers still wrapped around the knife. She pulls it out without a second thought, and Ramsey drops to his knees.

As Arya edges backward, Daenerys wraps her arms around her. Ramsey drops face-first to the dirt, and his body stills. Arya turns in her lover's grip, throwing her arms around her. Dany pulls her closer to her chest, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other around her shoulders.

Arya lets out a quiet sob, though no tears spring to her eyes. Dany tightens her hold, but Arya pulls back, cupping her face so she can press her lips to Daenerys’. They stand that way for what could be hours, and all Arya knows is _Daenerys_ , the feel and thought of her making the arena fade away.

Her hair curling over her shoulders, the blood coating her cut fingers, the warmth of her skin and mouth.

“Tributes, attention. Our final rule of two tributes being victors has, _unfortunately_ , been rescinded.” Arya closes her eyes and clenches her fists at Baelish’s words. Daenerys’ brows furrow in fury. “There may only be one victor of the games. Good luck, tributes.”

Daenerys pulls back, the two staring at each other with twin looks of horror.

“You need to kill me.” Daenerys picks up the blade Ramsey dropped, holding it out hilt first. As if Arya could ever kill Dany. “You need to go home to your family.”

“I’m not going to kill you. How could you even ask that of me?” Arya knows her family is watching, that two of her brothers have already been lost to these games. But it’s worth her dying if it means Daenerys will go home. That she’ll be _alive._

“Your family needs you to live.”

“And I need _you_ to live.” Arya goes to grab the knife, but Daenerys pulls it back, turning the blade to point at her own skin. An idea forms in Arya’s mind. 

“Trust me.” Daenerys cocks her head at the whispered words, but relaxes her grip. Arya turns Daenerys’ hand so the blade faces Arya, pushed up so it rests on Arya's neck. The blade in her hand moves to Dany’s chest, poised above her heart.

“Together,” Daenerys whispers. Arya nods, pressing one last kiss to her lips before they move to strike the final blows. There’s no point going home. Better to die together.

“Wait!” They freeze. “Stop. May I present the two victors of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark.”

The two look at each other, dropping their blades to embrace, their lips meeting in the middle. They’ve both survived. They’ve both lived.

-

There is no perfection in living as Victors, even without the future threat of being part of the games. They live together in the Victors village of District Two with the Starks. In the day they spend most of their time together, at night they sleep wrapped around each other.

Their sleep is plagued with nightmares, the faces of Ramsey and Tyene and Shireen, and nearly every other fallen tribute flashing across their dreams. But they wake up beside each other, press kisses to each other's skin and whisper reassurances together that they are _alive_ , _they’re out of the game and safe_.

They will never be fully healed, never be fully the same as before the game. But together, they can live.

**Author's Note:**

> [daenerys' dress before it burns looks similar to this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c6/81/c6/c681c667a57c2118dad11e0bd3fbaf7c.jpg)   
>  [arya's dress for the interview looks like this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fa/1d/18/fa1d1835be0bf037a0728a907afd6820.jpg)


End file.
